CHAPTER SIX
Henry Davis, Rear-Admiral of the Red and Commander-in-Chief of His Majesty's ships and vessels upon the Windward and Leeward Islands station, was a short, round-faced man in late middle-age, with stiff black eyebrows that stuck out of his forehead like boot brushes, but he had an open, cheerful face and after greeting Ramage on the quarterdeck of the Invincible he led the way down to the great cabin. He had eyed the canvas pouch that Ramage was carrying and was obviously anxious to get his hands on the dispatches and orders it held, but he concealed his impatience.
The cabin was enormous by comparison with the Juno's and furnished as became an admiral in a ship of the line: half a dozen leather-covered armchairs, one of the largest wine-coolers Ramage had ever seen - made of mahogany and shaped like a fat Greek urn - and a sideboard with a rack in which half a dozen cut-glass decanters glittered in the sunlight reflecting through the sternlights. One of the two swords hung in racks in the forward bulkhead was an ornate ceremonial scimitar with a beautifully chased and gilded pommel, the other a curved fighting sword: obviously the Admiral favoured the cavalry type of sabre. The curtains drawn back on either side of the sternlights were a deep red damask woven with intricate patterns of silver thread - the same design, Ramage noted, as the ceremonial sword pommel. Probably bought in Persia, or presents from some Turkish potentate. Together they gave the cabin an atmosphere more suited to some bearded pasha,
'A drink?' the Admiral inquired, waving Ramage to one of the chairs. ‘The usual, or there is fresh lime or lemon juice. No ice I'm afraid; the damned schooner hasn't arrived from Nova Scotia. The last consignment lasted only a week; the fools didn't pack it properly. They said they were short of straw, so two thirds of it melted before they got here. Said they had to pump most of the way down.' He gave a mirthless laugh. 'Odd to think that a ship laden with ice blocks could sink itself with the ice melting...’
It could not, since ice took up more cubic space than the water it produced, but only a callow midshipman would point that out to an Admiral. 'A lime juice, if I may, sir,'
The Admiral stared suspiciously at Ramage from under his jutting eyebrows. 'You do take a drink, though?’
Ramage saw the mottled complexion and bulbous nose of a man who obviously enjoyed a good brandy and hurriedly nodded his head. 'Indeed, sir; it's just that I'm very thirsty. It's hot here in the bay, after the Atlantic'
The Admiral grunted approvingly. 'Hate this damned bay m'self, but at least it's cooler on board than on shore. My wife - she took the coolest house we could find, but at night, when the wind drops ...' He shook a small silver bell vigorously and when a steward appeared ordered a rum punch for himself and a fresh lime juice for Ramage.
Ramage opened the pouch and took out the papers, handing the top one, his orders, to the Admiral, who read through them quickly. 'Hmm, I'm glad to have another frigate. Never have enough. Their Lordships don't seem to appreciate the problem of running a station like this, covering dozens of islands with so few ships, Ramage, eh? Any relation to the Earl of Blazey?’
'Son, sir.'
'Mmm, then you are the young fellow I've been reading about in the Gazette from time to time. Well, you are going to find it a lot quieter out here. No excitement. Convoys up and down the islands, an occasional chase after a privateer.,,'
Ramage pictured Southwick's face and did not notice the Admiral watching him closely. 'You look disappointed.'
'No, sir,' Ramage said hurriedly, careful not to add that it was what he had feared.
'I don't remember seeing your name on the latest List I have. When were you made post?'
'A month ago,' Ramage answered and knew what the Admiral was going to say next.
'Hmm, most junior on the station - by a couple of years or so.' He gave a dry laugh. 'That'll be a relief for some of my young firebrands: when they saw the Juno I expect they thought she was still commanded by your predecessor, who has more seniority than the rest o' them put together. Now, you have dispatches for me?'
Ramage took five packets and gave them to the Admiral, who looked at the rest of the papers Ramage was holding. 'What are those - Weekly Accounts and that sort of thing - list of defects as long as your arm?' When Ramage nodded, the Admiral rang the bell, which he had put down beside his chair. 'Give 'em to my secretary,' he said, bellowing to the sentry to pass the word for Mr Henshaw, When Henshaw arrived, as thin and nervous a secretary as Ramage had ever seen and obviously also the ship's chaplain, the Admiral did not bother with introductions, merely telling him to take the Juno's Weekly Accounts and start dealing with them.
As Ramage stood, intending to leave the Admiral to read his letters from the Admiralty, he glanced up. 'You haven't finished your drink yet,' he said impatiently. 'Just sit down while I read through this. When were you last at the Admiralty?'
‘The beginning of last month, sir, when I was made post.'
‘Who did you see?'
'The First Lord, sir.'
Again the Admiral stared at him. ‘And how was Lord St Vincent, eh?'
'In good health,' Ramage said lamely, guessing at the questions that must be passing through the Admiral's mind, since it was rare for a young post captain to see the First Lord, and he must have realized that Ramage was still a lieutenant when he entered the First Lord's office.
The Admiral ripped open the first letter - all of them, heavily sealed, were numbered, Ramage had noticed; presumably they were marked in order of importance. As the Admiral read, Ramage twisted slightly in his chair and looked round the cabin again. The Admiral was certainly a man who liked comfort - and who could blame him? The two gimballed lanterns were silver; four other lanthorns clipped to the bulkheads were inlaid with silver wire which was worked in the horn in the same pattern as the sword hilt.
The Admiral grunted and Ramage heard him ripping open a second packet, The canvas covering the cabin sole was new, and it would take several more coats of the pale green paint before the material was smooth. Ramage shifted his position: the armchairs were comfortable enough but leather was hardly a suitable covering for the heat of the Tropics: he could feel perspiration making his breeches stick to the material.
Again the Admiral grunted. 'His Lordship mention any forthcoming operations to you?'
'No, sir.'
‘Hmm.' Again the eyebrows lifted and then lowered, and the Admiral opened the next letter, glanced through it quickly and went on to the fourth, which produced a snort of disgust. The fifth hardly appeared to interest him and he gathered them all up again and looked at Ramage.
'Know Martinique at all?'
‘A little, sir. I know most of the other islands.’
The Admiral stood up, putting the papers down on his chair and walking over to his desk. There were a dozen or more charts rolled up and stowed in a rack to one side and he looked through them, finally pulling one out. He spread it out and put paperweights on the sides to prevent it rolling up again. Then he beckoned to Ramage, who saw it was a chart of Martinique and realized for the first time how similar it was to the foot of Italy.
The Admiral jabbed a blunt forefinger on Fort Royal, and then moved it to include the great Fort Royal Bay. 'Bane of my existence, that damned place,' he said sourly. 'I have to watch the French there like a terrier at a rabbit hole. That's going to be your job for the next few weeks - months, probably. Sorry for it, my boy, because you are going to get heartily sick of the sight of the Pointe des Salines,' he jabbed a finger on the southernmost tip of the island, 'and Diamond Rock - that's this one here, sticks up a mile off shore like a great tooth - and Cap Salomon.' He pointed to the headland on the south side of Fort Royal Bay. 'Aye, and as far up as Pointe des Nègres.' He gestured at the headland on the north side of the Bay.